


time will have his fancy

by thats_vexing



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: AU, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 06:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thats_vexing/pseuds/thats_vexing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their lives run in parallel like train tracks, converging when they least expect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time will have his fancy

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom was just begging for reincarnation fic… I am a huge, huge fan of Cloud Atlas, so that influenced pretty much every word I wrote.

1818

 

When his sister married the son of a lord, Jason was ready to make the acquaintance of an offish, spoilt man with a taste for the costliest pleasures in life. It turned out quite the contrary, as his sister's new husband was incredibly generous, both with his time and incredible intellect, which he never flaunted.

 

Together, they spent many an evening sat by the fire after dinner, the smells of expensive port and musty books curling around them like a cocoon. Conversation was always whip-sharp and insightful, and the meaningful glances exchanged across a crowded room made Jason feel secure that someone was on his side in the cutthroat world of the upper classes. Much went unsaid between them, but what they didn't say was always communicated in the eyes.

 

News of his brother-in-law's illness struck him far harder than his sister.

 

 

 

1859

 

The days at sea were horrendous work. Every day, the sun beat down and stripped his back of healthy skin; his hands grew tough and his muscles hardened. Water became a sacred scarcity on board, and Jason was so parched one day that he knocked over the young navigator's instruments. The man didn't stay angry with him long, but stared at him with eyes that matched the endless expanse of the sea. That night, while Jason scrubbed the deck as punishment for his misdemeanour, he could only think of the one thing the navigator had said to him. "I'm sure we'll meet again."

 

But he was wrong, after the ship docked, Jason never saw him again.

 

 

 

1902

 

Paris at the turn of the century buzzed with life, the music played bright and fresh, and the city was vibrant with hope and churning with innovation. The sheets were crumpled and blindingly white, as bright as the skin Jason traced with the lightest touch, barely there. Strawberries tasted crisp and oozed red like blood. Sounds of the Seine were their soundtrack to hours spent languishing in each other’s company, and the only cold reminder of a world outside of the hotel walls.

 

"I know we'll be back here again." Jason murmured onto pliant lips as the sun painted the room gold. He received a bittersweet smile, bruised pink by the berries; they both know it wasn't true. Those few days flicker behind his eyes, at his fingertips, for years to come.

 

 

 

1944

 

The bomb shelter was dank, dark and quivering with tension and expectation. Jason caught wide eyes in the gloom, beautiful, expressive eyes that reflected the fear settled in his core. In return, the need to reassure, a warm confidence, flowed through his being. The walls shudder, and the connection was broken. The terror was back. Jason pulled his young wife closer, but never had he felt so inadequate.

 

 

 

1963

 

"Have you got a light?" He startled the man; casually dressed but pressed to perfection, back straight from years of study and etiquette. Such attention didn't quite reach his hair, which was wild and frizzy from the drizzle in the arse end of London. Jason was not so lucky. He held back a laugh as the stranger turned to look at him; it died in his throat. He watched numbly while the man fumbled in his pocket, which Jason had spitefully wondered was lined with cash, and handed Jason a couple of matches.

 

"Here," he said briskly. His pristine appearance was wrinkled by a frown. "Do I--"

 

"No, no." He took the matches and retreated in shame. Jason could never let him see him like this.

 

 

 

2013

 

By his late twenties, he knew that something was inherently wrong. Jason couldn't settle, his ambitions lacked his whole heart; an incessant loneliness clung to him. His friends moved on, changed and grew but something held him back, something with a hold on his heart that stopped him loving, living, as he should. Instead, Jason craved the smoky smell of a fire, salt of the sea and the golden light of the sun.

 

His search for his father consumed him, but the closer he got to answers, the worse he felt. Like he was heading in the wrong direction; looking in the wrong place for so long, what would have made him whole was probably lost. He kept waiting, searching, though he didn't know what for. No one quite met Jason's eyes like he thought they would, they looked at him or past him, and he always seemed to be looking for the shadow of someone else in their faces. 

 

He didn't see it coming. All of that waiting, nights of frustration and desperate loneliness dissipated on the day he lost himself to the sea and ended up in a mythological city. It was wild and terrifying, compelling and right. The moment he caught ahold of that balcony looked into Pythagoras' shocked, wide eyes, it is so inexplicably _right_. They will always end up here, together, even if it means defying time itself.


End file.
